


Prepare For Trouble, Make It Double

by skatzaa



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/M, Luke Organa, Non Accidental Baby Acquisition, POV Outsider, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Treat, Well for part of it at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21682906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: After the creation of the Empire, Bail returned home. And he carried a surprise for his wife.
Relationships: Bail Organa/Breha Organa
Comments: 8
Kudos: 81
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2019





	Prepare For Trouble, Make It Double

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doublejoint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/gifts).



> I didn't quite manage to work in Obi/Bail/Breha, but I at least snuck in a mention of our dear Obi-Wan. Perhaps in the future something arises between the three of them? ;) 
> 
> This canon AU struck my fancy, and I hope it works for you, stephanericher!
> 
> ....I'm sorry about the title. My girlfriend said it was okay 😅

Breha stood at the edge of Aldera’s royal hangar, hands clasped before her, a small entourage at her back. Just two guards, a handmaiden, and the Minister of Agriculture that she, sadly, hadn’t been able to lose on her way there. He was still chattering on about the southern harvests, an important factor in the world’s economic exports, but Breha only listened with half an ear.

She would rather greet her husband alone, especially after the events of the past week. But she was the queen; she was never truly alone, and in the wake of the Republic’s collapse, her people would look to her for guidance and strength. Eyes would follow her closely over the coming months, and she couldn’t let them see that anything was amiss.

A signal lit on the control tower, and she watched as the doors in the hangar roof shuddered and slid back to reveal the sky, heavy with the pinks and oranges of Aldera’s famous sunsets. Bail was in his diplomatic cruiser then; the  _ Tantive IV _ was much better suited for vertical take offs and landings.

Surely enough, it took only a few moments more before Breha was able to pick out the roar of starship engines. The minister finally, blessedly fell silent as the corvette appeared above the hangar, sunlight glinting on the hull. It lowered itself so smoothly, with the nose tilted up a fraction more than most pilots preferred, that Breha knew her husband had to be the one flying it.

She allowed a serene smile to settle on her face, used it as a shield to hide the worry that had lodged itself in her chest. Bail would only be piloting if something had happened to his crew—or he’d been forced to leave Coruscant without them—or, if he was flying something so secret and dangerous that not even his most trusted staff were to know about it.

The ship set down so lightly it barely made a sound, and then the engines cut out.

Breha stepped forward as the ramp began to lower. Her entourage stayed in place to give the illusion of privacy, but she knew that sound carried easily through the hangar; they would hear every word.

Bail appeared, whole, if heartsick and exhausted. He smiled when he saw her, the polite tilt of his lips that he reserved for State or Senate functions, and started across the hangar.

Breha forced herself to match his unhurried pace, no matter how much her heart urged her to do otherwise. There were eyes everywhere; always, but especially now. She could not appear to be anxious, when this was nothing but her husband returning from a Senate session. In his fifth year as Alderaan’s senator, Bail had returned to her in this fashion often enough that it barely warranted notice.

Nothing could be different, this time, even though everything was.

They met in the middle, and Bail bowed to her, as low as he could manage without outright prostrating himself on the durasteel floor. Foolish, ridiculous man. When he straightened, eyes shining with mischief, he said, “My Queen.”

Breha pressed her lips together and inclined her head, holding out a hand for him to take in his own.

“Welcome home,” she told him. “I trust the latest session was a fruitful one?”

Bail was too disciplined for his eyes to dark, even for a heartbeat, toward their audience, but Breha knew he was equally aware of their presence. 

“As always,” he said, moving to tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow. They strolled toward the group, simply a queen and her consort—a woman and her husband—content to be together once again. He lowered his voice to the point of gentle confidence, rather than secrecy, and tilted his head towards her, eyes dark; their audience would hear it all, but it would appear only to be a Senator informing his liege of changes, and nothing more. “The next session will be delayed, I fear.” And here, the slightest hesitation. “Emperor Palpatine is very focused on seeing an official end to  _ all _ the fighting, and rightly so. But I find myself anxious to return to Coruscant as soon as possible.”

Breha did not allow her fingers to tighten on his sleeve. “Of course.”

His eyes looked somber for a moment more, before his smile shifted into something verging on playful.

“I’ve brought something back for you, from my visit to Stewjon.” As they came within arms reach of her entourage, he gestured toward Anisara, Breha’s handmaiden. Anisara did not fill the same role as the legendary handmaidens of Naboo, but she was still the most trusted staff person in the entire palace. “Mistress Anisara, please ensure that my gift for Her Majesty is delivered directly to our quarters.”

“Oh, Bail,” She laughed and allowed some of the formality to drop away. The Minister of Agriculture was a terrible romantic, and nearly as bad of a gossip; soon, the tale of the queen and her doting husband, affectionate and unworried, would spread throughout the palace and into the city beyond. “You didn’t—”

“Ah,” Bail said, cutting her off with one finger to her lips. He removed it almost immediately, not overstepping what was considered appropriate in public. His gentle smile lodged itself in her heart. “I know I didn’t have to. Bt it reminded me so much of you that I simply couldn’t resist.”

Breha smiled back, letting her love for him shine through. Then, she turned to the entourage.

“Anisara, you may see to whatever it is the Senator has brought with him this time,” she said. Bail’s gift giving habits were quite well known in Aldera. She turned to the minister. “Minister Sarwai, if you would forgive my rudeness, I would very much like to spend the evening with my husband. Perhaps we can return to the topic at hand tomorrow?”

Minister Sarwai was so pleased to have witnessed the reunion that he didn’t even attempt to object. He said his farewells for the night, and allowed the queen and her consort to sweep out of the hangar, their guards falling into step behind them.

Breha kept her grip on Bail’s arm feather light, though her mind was spinning wildly. Whatever Bail had brought to their doorstep was urgent, perhaps even a matter of life and death. They didn’t use their coded statements very often, but she had developed them the day she was crowned queen. 

He had something on his ship, something he had told Anisara to deal with herself. There would be nothing waiting in their quarters—nothing important at least, just the decoy that he had acquired to allay suspicions. The true package—or person—would be smuggled out of the palace by Anisara, who would not allow anyone else to be involved.

And she couldn’t ask him about it, because as much as she would like to rush off to their rooms and demand an answer immediately, it simply wasn’t possible. Appearances must be kept. She would have to wait.

* * *

The queen and the senator of Alderaan dined together, one of the prince consort’s favorite meals, prepared by the kitchens in honor of his homecoming. Jula, another member of the queen’s household, waited on them. They spoke of nothing in particular; the queen was well known for her desire to keep state business out of her dinners, as much as was possible. After dinner, they strolled arm in arm to the viewing deck on the southern side of the palace, so that Bail could see the stars silhouetted against the  _ Antepasada  _ mountains, reflected in the waters of Mirror Lake, as was their tradition upon each of his returns. Bail always said that, after his wife, the sight of Alderaan’s stars reassured him like nothing else.

It was only then, after Bail had had his fill of the night sky, that the queen and the senator of Alderaan retired to their quarters, where they found a beautiful Stewjoni flowering plant waiting for them. The queen loved it, as she was wont to love all plant life. 

Elsewhere, a young woman knocked on the door of a small, tidy building in the middle of a nondescript street. She was dressed in rough clothing, her shoulders hunched against the early chill of Aldera’s autumn. As she waited, she drew her headcover tighter and mindlessly rocked in place. One hand clutched a bundle to her chest.

If one saw her in the full light, and she was dressed in finer clothes, she would very closely resemble a member of Queen Breha’s personal household.

The door opened. The nightly caretaker of the Aldera orphanage appeared, still tying the sash of his robe. He did not sigh at the sight of a young person on his doorstep so late. He did not attempt to dissuade her. Aldera did not have many orphaned or abandoned children, and all who wanted it had access to contraceptive or, after the fact, options for termination. But he had worked at the home for a very long time, long enough to have experienced this often enough. Sometimes they changed their mind after the fact, sometimes, it was… other reasons. It wasn’t his place to ask.

He reached out for the child and, after a slight hesitation, the young woman held out the bundle. She kept her head bowed. He settled the child easily into the crook of one elbow, and pulled the blanket away just long enough to reveal a shock of dark hair. The child slept peacefully, and was very young; less than a week old, by his estimate.

He looked at the young woman once more, and asked, “Does the child have a name?”

She shrunk further in on herself, one hand clutching her headcover closed in front of her neck. The other darted out toward the child, but she pulled it back to her chest before she could make contact. She said, “Her name is Leia.”

She did not stay long after that. In the caretaker’s experience, they rarely did.

In Crevasse City, on the other side of Mirror Lake, the nightly caretaker of Crevasse’s own orphanage woke to a flurry of hurried knocks at the door. She always slept in the front room close to the infants, if she had any to care for at the time, and she was a light sleeper; it helped to wake whenever a child fussed, but also when someone appeared on her doorstep.

She wrapped herself in a blanket—the canyon was colder at night than on the surface—and shuffled to the door. She opened it, but there was no one there.

She looked down.

There was a small, portable cradle on the mat, inexpensive but lined with enough blankets to keep its occupant warm in the autumn night. 

She looked left, then right, but there was no one visible on this level of the canyon. Instead, she fiddled with the controls of the cradle until it rose to hip height; she was too old, these days, to be lifting infants off the ground unless she absolutely had to.

The child’s sleeping face came into focus—she must’ve forgotten her glasses on the bedside table again—and she smiled gently.

A piece of flimsi had been placed on top of the blankets. The caretaker picked it up and brought it closer, until she could make out the words:  _ His name is Luke. His mother died, and I cannot care for him on my own. I am sorry. _

She frowned. Women didn’t often die in childbirth, particularly not on a core world like Alderaan. But the child was—she glanced at his face once more—perhaps a week old. The planet had been accepting refugee ships for the course of the war, and that hadn’t stopped simply because someone on Coruscant  _ said _ the fighting was over. Perhaps Luke’s mother had died in transport, giving birth in the cramped confines of a ship. It was sad, but not unheard of.

The caretaker pressed another control, and the cradle followed her into the building. She would care for the child, of course, and she would never turn down a donated cradle. There weren’t many young ones, now, but that could change in the coming days.

Across the canyon, far enough away that it could only be seen in the gloom with the assistance of electrobinoculars, a shadow detached itself from the surrounding darkness and slipped away.

The Queen of Alderaan made a speech the next morning, standing on a low balcony that overlooked a great courtyard of the palace. She had delayed it only as long as it had taken her husband, the consort and senator of Alderaan, to return from the galactic center. She was dressed in a somber gown, embroidered with the yellow of remembrance, her hair arranged in its normal crown braid, with the addition of the mourning twists plainly visible for all to see.

And there were many to see. Queen Breha was eloquent, and gentle, and strong, and her people wished to see her, and hear her words for themselves. These were dark days, and Queen Breha, named after the brightest star in Alderaani legends, was a shining light against the darkness. The residents of Aldera poured into the courtyard and overflowed into the streets surrounding the palace, where they watched from screens and heard her voice, amplified by the acoustics of the city itself and aided by speakers.

She spoke of the end of the war, so long hoped for and finally arrived. She spoke of the refugees that Alderaan had welcomed with open arms over the last several years, and how even now, with the conflict officially over, they would never turn away one who was in need. She spoke of standing together through adversity, of a world united together and, therefore, unbreakable. She spoke of helping those less fortunate, of making Alderaan a beacon of hope in a recovering galaxy.

“And that is why,” she said, voice ringing out across the city, clear and strong, “in the wake of the war’s end, when there are many in need of our help, Senator Organa and I will do all we can to help our people, both as your ruler and representative, but also as citizens of Alderaan ourselves.”

Following the speech, the queen and her husband visited two separate orphanages, one in the capital, and the other in the nearby Crevasse City. They did so with little pomp and circumstance, but equally without secrecy. They were citizens of Alderaan who wished for children but did not have any, and who knew they could provide happy homes for those affected by the war.

They chose two children, both young infants, of whose background the caretakers knew very little. One had most certainly been born premature, and the other had a lingering cough that boded poorly for one so little. In the palace, they would be treated by the best doctors in the sector; they would want for nothing.

News leaked quickly. The orphanages of Alderaan—truthfully, the orphanages of many nearby planets—soon found themselves with few charges to care for. 

Within a week, Luke and Leia Organa had been announced as the heirs to the throne. The order of ascendancy would be determined when the children were older, and they had had time to better ascertain who would be best suited to the throne. Everyone agreed that it was a very sensible way of handling things. 

Quite quietly, another gardener was hired by the palace. He was a Stewjoni man, by way—most recently—of Coruscant. He had been chosen to care for the Stewjoni fireheart plant, which was rumored to be very fragile. He took a bed in the palace dormitories, and spoke little to anyone. Of the few personal details he relinquished to his new coworkers, he was a refugee of the war, and had come to Alderaan hoping for peace.

His name, he said, was Ben.

* * *

Breha sat in the queen’s formal sitting rooms, a large cloth draped over her chest and shoulder to protect her formal evening gown. The banquet to celebrate the prince and princess’ adoptions would begin shortly; it was not entirely necessary, in her mind, but she hadn’t objected, because she knew it would do the palace good to be able to celebrate. Soon she would have to rise, and go out to greet her subjects. For now, though, she was free to be a mother, not a queen.

Across the room, Bail cradled Leia in his arms, shushing her softly. Leia had proved to be more fussy than her brother thus far, who only truly got worked up when Leia did. Bail turned toward her and smiled; there was spit up on his cape where he hadn’t placed the cloth quite right, and Breha knew she would have to fix it before they left.

She looked down at Luke, sleeping quietly against her chest. Tears pricked her eyes, and she breathed deeply to hold them at bay. Now was not the time, not when her makeup had already been completed and touched up. She likely shouldn’t have even been sitting in her gown, but that had yet to stop her.

Luke let out a soft sigh, and then his mouth moved as though he was dreaming.

Bail continued to pace the room, just beyond her vision. She could hear him, the steady scuff of shoes on the floor, and his whispered words to their daughter.

Beha had never expected this, not even in her wildest dreams. But she would cherish them—all three of them—and she would hold them close to her heart and protect them fiercely from anything that might threaten them. 

She leaned down and laid a gentle kiss on the top of Luke’s head. 

She and Bail would have to leave soon, handing over their children to Anisara and Sarru, but for now, she would enjoy this time with her family, for it was precious beyond words.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated.


End file.
